“Oh, of course.” She regarded Roen over the top of her wire-rimmed spectacles and offered an apologetic smile. “Ben is used to me waxing on. Sometimes I forget myself around others.”
Roen nodded but didn’t speak. Victorine might have been anyone lying there and Ridley’s detached, clinical interest had no impact on him. He still felt nothing.
Ridley handed Ben the envelope. He returned it to her bag while she made several more folds in the quilt. It now lay justbelow Victorine’s breasts. Ridley used the scissors to make a cut in the neckline of Victorine’s nightgown and then parted the material to reveal the neck and shoulders. “Well,” she said, “that tells a story.”
Rather than crowd Ridley and Ben, Roen moved to the side of the bed opposite them and bent forward to see what they were seeing. The bruises on Victorine’s shoulders did indeed tell a story.
“She wasn’t strangled,” said Ben. “There’d be some bruising around her neck if that were the case.”
Roen looked up at him. “So she was what? Held down?”
“Yes, I think so.” Ben asked Ridley to step aside. When she did, he bent over the body and placed his hands just above the marks on Victorine’s shoulders. “The thumbs would have been about here. The fingers placed more to the back. Like so.” He straightened and pointed to the towels lying on the floor beside the wardrobe. “I found those inside. The killer made an attempt to hide them. He took considerably more care dressing and posing her than he did getting rid of the evidence of his cleanup.”
Ridley waved Ben back. She fingered Victorine’s hair at the ends, the scalp, and finally at the back of the head. “Damp,” she said. “Only here at the back and only faintly. The pillow has absorbed some of the wet.”
Ben nodded. He asked them to follow him into the bathing room, where he pointed out the small puddles in the grout and the spongy underside of the bar of soap. “The tub’s bone dry. I think the killer used the towels to wipe it clean. He missed a few spots on the floor. He didn’t anticipate that she would be found this soon or there’d be nothing here to suggest that she’d been bathing when he came upon her.”
“He?” asked Roen. “You’re certain of that?”
“My hands were a good match for the bruises and it would have taken considerable strength to hold her under water. Nothing is certain yet, but I am confident enough at this juncture to say a man did this.”
Ridley concurred. She returned to the bedside while the men remained in the bathing room speaking quietly. Without Roen present, she was more comfortable throwing back the quilt to reveal all of Victorine. The body still held surprises.
“Ben. Roen. Come here. You need to see this for yourselves.” When they were standing on either side of her, she did not explain herself. There was no need. The outline of Victorine’s distended abdomen beneath her nightgown told its own tale.
Ben frowned deeply. “What happened to her? Why is her belly poking sideways?”
Roen stared at the curious contour of Victorine’s belly and answered Ben’s question before his wife poked him with her scissors, as surely she was tempted to do. “She’s not pregnant.” He looked at Ridley. “May I?” When she nodded, he lifted the hem of Victorine’s gown high enough to reveal the roundly shaped cushion loosely strapped to her abdomen.
Ridley undid the ties and pulled off the cushion. She thrust it at Ben, who made a small oofing sound and clutched it to his stomach. “You really need to read that book on childbirth I gave you.”
“Remington advised against it,” he said. In an aside to Roen, he added, “The illustrations scared my brother.”
Ridley ignored him. She asked Roen, “Are you surprised?”
“That she deceived me? Deceived all of us? No, that doesn’t surprise. I believed her, though. Not her claim that the child was mine, only that she was carrying a child. I cannot fathom how her mind worked.”
Ben said, “I hope you’re grateful for that.”
“I am.”
Ridley lifted the hem of the nightgown and drew it down to Victorine’s knees, preserving her modesty for the time being. There would be no modesty when she performed the autopsy. She asked, “If you had not married Lily and were free to make other choices, would the knowledge of the child have been enough for you to marry Miss Headley?”
Roen did not have to think about it. “No. A gun to my head couldn’t have prompted me to propose.”
“I thought she aimed lower,” said Ben.
Roen gave him a wry sideways glance and was in time to see Ridley poke him in the side with her elbow. At least she had refrained from using the scissors.
“I don’t think she understood that,” said Ridley, addressing Roen. “She didn’t know you were married until you told her.She expected a pregnancy would produce a different outcome.”
“I imagine you’re right. Did you suspect something about her pregnancy wasn’t right?”
“No. I would have told you if I’d thought that. It’s obvious now why she wouldn’t schedule an appointment with me. You know, Roen, she couldn’t have remained in Frost Falls much longer, not without an elaborate plan for a miscarriage. And that cushion would not accommodate a growing belly. She had to know I’d discover her deception one way or the other.”
“The fly in the ointment,” said Ben with considerable pride. “That’s my wife.”
Roen noticed that Ridley did not take offense. “What’s to be done now?” he asked.
